


Watchtower [One Shot]

by vforvesta



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:58:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vforvesta/pseuds/vforvesta
Summary: As apparent from the pun, the moment I saw ‘One Shot’, I knew this was going to be a Widowmaker fanfic, but I wanted it to be as removed from Overwatch as possible despite being set in its universe. It was going to be about observing absurdities, the most silly of things that could happen in crowds. The whole ‘criminal partners’ bit came from listening to Partners In Crime (Ft. Ash Costello) by Set it Off. Reindhart is there just because, why not?I’m horrible at humour when it isn’t pure randomness, but I hope you enjoyed reading this anyhow. It was a fun exercise in writing.





	

_No one can escape my sight._

 

Tracking every movement beneath my perch, the fourth story of an abandoned building in the projects. Clay and sandstone cover me, a mantle that obscures all but my vision. My temperament flawless, mission success the only thought. My target will appear, their routine analysed and habits stripped bare. Within these two hours, I will snag them within my crosshairs as they walk en route to the Temple of Anubis.

 

The marketplace sprawls beneath me, a smattering of foreign tongues in a language I’m all too familiar with. Posture and positioning, buyers and sellers in an ever shifting dance for advantage. For power. The same between my adversaries and I, just a difference in kind.

 

A mess of white catches my eye. I trace a dog barreling through the crowd, overgrown canine cloak billowing wild, toppling urns and scattering goods. It’s the size of a large Mastiff puppy, but judging from the proportions it’s probably an Akbash. It’s this that makes it stand out, besides the trail of chaos it leaves behind and despite its fur that blends into the desert landscape.

 

Harder to note is the black cat it’s chasing. Bad omen, some would say. But here it is a creature steeped in this region’s history, sacred and revered. I should tread lightly; it is hard to ascertain what kind of grip superstition has on its populace. A wrong move could dredge up emotions I am not willing to deal with. Not something I can compromise.

 

Animal nature simple yet haphazard, a loose cannon that I can either predict with precision or be completely off. A wild card to take note of. I delegate the mutt and its target to the corner of my mind. Eyes on the prize.

 

Still no sign of the target. My eyes scan the crowd. A once-over, twice-over, still nothing. Could I have been mistaken? Not possible, my intelligence has been unimpeachable. But even so, there will be a next time. There is always a next time, as long as I keep up my end of consistency. No need for panic. I will be here watching. The next opportunity, and then the one after, and after, and after.

 

One man sticks out like a sore thumb, an anachronism displaced through the space-time continuum. He’s dressed like a tourist, but not for this country. Bright cyan shirt that stings the eyes, flashy shades that reflect the sun’s toothy grin. To top it off, he’s wearing a pair of baggy shorts showing off a floral pattern, complete a hideous colour scheme: alternating horizontal strips of red and green. Just like Christmas in summer. Yes, he does look like one of those jokers prancing about Ilios during my stint at the lighthouse. 

 

He’s slick and shifty, suspicious due to how smooth and charismatic he could be. With hair gelled back like that, how could he not? The crowd avoids him like the plague, and he plays them like a snake charmer, waltzing in and out just to get a reaction. All of him is so uniquely off-putting that he’s becoming intriguing, even tantalising. My trigger finger itches as I find myself unable to peel my crosshairs away from him. 

 

But I’m not a sniper for nothing. I do have my discipline.

 

Can’t wander about. It is possible that he might be a distraction. I shift attention away from him, and-

 

“Aaaah!!"

 

A blaring shriek carouses from the crowd, and I find myself snapping back in his general direction. But the scream came from a young lady, as plain and conservative as any other in this predominately Muslim country. A pitch black niqab, scarcely adorned with gold lace and other embellishments. She’s screaming, because the black cat from earlier - which blends perfectly against her legs - is scooting around her, tearing against the flowing fabric of her robes. And remember the Abash mutt from earlier? It’s here too, perfectly ready to wreck havoc with a singular tunnel vision, only aware of the cat as it mows down the lady, causing her to trip backwards-

 

-into the fashion disaster of a man behind her.

 

He manages to catch her, a fluid grace seeming almost rehearsed, a practiced dance, but the wild abandon in her eyes betray the seeming sham of a scene before me. This is genuine, a happy coincidence, as he sets her upright, bowing low to kiss the sleeves covering the back of her palm.

 

“Oh dear."

 

“I pray you’re alright. Are you?"

 

“Oh, I can’t be sure. But why thank you, kind sir-"

 

“Anything for a lady such as yourself-"

 

At least, that is what I imagine they are saying. I am trained in lipreading, but the words escape me. A scene lasting no more than seconds, seconds that can be costly in my line of work. I sigh, exasperated, steering my attention back on course-

 

When I hear shouts. Noises, audible now coming from the odd couple of the previous scene. Somehow, I know that I’m invested in this curious episode till it plays out to its conclusion.

 

“You!"

 

“It’s you!"

 

“But… how?"

 

“You..!"

 

There is familiarity in their voices, and an intense vocalisation of emotion. What kind of emotion, I’m not sure, but the lady’s eyes are wide, her hands to her chest, recoiling backwards. The man likewise, is in disbelief. Another happy coincidence? Long lost acquaintances, perhaps family? Perhaps-

 

She takes a swipe at the man, lashing out. He is prepared for this, the way he dodges the attack. I could almost imagine the follow up: her baring fingernails manicured to weaponised perfection, and then pouncing on the man, clawing out his eyes. Unfortunately, reality isn’t as colourful. She manages a kick, which the man sidesteps without effort.

 

So, not a fortuitous meeting after all.

 

“Why are you here? No, _how_ are you here?"

 

“I could ask the same, you scheming little witch!"

 

“Back off, bastard! Fuck you!"

 

The young woman turns to leave, but the man is having none of it. He grabs her by the arm, yanks her towards him, before smashing their skulls together. I let out a small giggle at the whole ridiculous affair. A careless mistake, but that could be forgiven in the face of such foolish, clumsy incompetence.

 

“Fuck!” she spits, clutching her nose.

 

He’s doubling over in pain as well, but now there’s something new in his eyes. Hate maybe. Possibly vengeance. Is that a hint of bloodlust, considering he has shown himself prone to erratic violence at the drop of the hat?

 

In a motion so quick even I was surprised, he lunges forward, a single hand batting away her hands and pulling down the cloth covering her nose and mouth, tearing it down all the way to her collarbone. Before anybody could be enraged at this outright disrespect of modesty, a bunch of special gemstones in the assorted colours of the rainbow spilled out from the gap, littering the floor.

 

It didn’t help that the dog from before nipped at the edge of her dress, the further tearing causing more jewelry to leak in a steady stream. She kicks the pesky dog, showing no remorse.

 

Twenty paces away, a store owner recognisers the goods as his, and gets up from his stall.

 

With impeccable timing, she retaliates, reaching into his shorts, straight into the groin area, and fishes out a pile of gold coins. He doesn’t even yelp or protest, just rolls his eyes.

 

It becomes apparent to anyone with half a mind that these are but petty criminals. Thieves.

 

The uproar begins, as the market folds in and collapses on the duo.

 

“Scum! Sinners! Against the will of God!"

 

“Catch them! We must bring down the hammer of justice!"

 

“Someone call Helix! Where’s security when you need them?"

 

“Retribution and restitution!"

 

The scene shifts, and is too good not to miss. Smoother than silk, I adjust my vantage point, trailing the stampede while sticking close to the walls, crossing buildings with my grappling hook. Every now and then, I subconsciously leave behind a venom mine, on the off chance I’m being tailed. Old habits don’t die, it seems, when they’re programmed into the very fibre of your being.

 

The lady’s hiding more than stolen treasure in her niqab. A biotic grenade grants her crowd control to make the initial slip, and she pulls out a pistol to ward off anyone without serious intent. Her criminal partner - or rival? Or old partner? - scurries behind her, wielding a dagger made for quick skirmishes. The serrated edge is far from practical, an intimidation technique with no substance. It wouldn’t cut deep or clean, looking at the craftsmanship of the weapon.

 

Different details become apparent as I observe the two. They must’ve been acquainted one way or another, given their reaction. Deeply acquainted, I might add, given that they both knew all the crude hiding locations of each other. But such hostility in a trade like theirs could only mean betrayal. A mutual backstab, perhaps, with double, triple, even quadruple crossing. All these ploys and schemes, and at the end of the day here they are, stuck and forced to work together.

 

Besides their flair for taking what isn’t theirs, they have little in common, although with the same mentality. He stood out so much to repel, going so overboard as if daring anybody to challenge him. Nobody could ever think that a thief would thrust themselves so blatantly into the spotlight, so it worked.

 

She on the other hand, was the night to his day. A perfect member of the crowd, she was inconspicuous. The niqab made her one in the face of many, non-threatening and indistinguishable. But now without it, there was a certain fire in her eyes, the way the shape of her face contorts in anguish as she fights for her life. Her copper skin glistens with sweat, and the deep brown eyes suggests that she is indeed local. An even more outstanding disguise, given that it was entirely legitimate. 

 

We move towards a pair of twin arches, a choke if anything that would seal the criminals’ fates if they were one step too slow. The mob has gained enough momentum, a hive mind seeking to corner them, with a section breaking off to flank them and cut off any means of escape. When I catch my opening, I use it, and bring myself to the top of the arches, watching over everything unraveling beneath me. I’m used to this bird’s eye view, but it doesn’t make the chase any less thrilling. The adrenaline reminds me of the times when I was the one being pursued, especially by those from Overwatch.

 

They’re not going to make it. The mob moves faster, and I can already see it happening before it does. I find it a touch ironic, and certainly hilarious that both that cat and dog are running with the thieving couple, just a few steps behind a mirroring them.

 

I count down the seconds under my breath. 3… 2… 1...

 

And they disappear beneath the arches. And don’t make it out the other side.

 

They’re directly beneath me, and I can’t see what’s happening. What a shame. Show’s over. Time to get back to work.

 

Just kidding.

 

_No one can escape my sight._

 

A flick of a button and my infra-red visor pops into action, and I can scope out the heat signatures of each person. The crowd has stopped, rushing in from the front and back but without their intended fugitives in custody, the duo having apparently disappeared. There is commotion and confusion, but from the silhouettes I can tell the two are long gone. But with a glance to the left-

 

I see four figures huddled together, having escaped through a door and then a building. Two adults and two animals.

 

When they exit into a back road, I can only see the animals, but the shapes of the humans simply don’t exist when using the naked eye. But under infra-red, they are there, as clear as day.

 

Invisibility cloak. Well played. I almost want to salute them.

 

Shrinking away, I collapse myself into the wall, one eye peering beyond to catch a final glimpse of their great escape, before putting an end to this escapade and returning to my post. Can’t afford to think about the time wasted, only a hope that I did not waste my chance during this slim window. They are five paces away from the corner when the towns square booms with an unmistakeable bellow, a hearty war cry that’s on the verge of laughter.

 

_“Justice shall be served!"_

 

I’d recognise that guffaw anywhere. I see the iconic blue shield before it actually pops up, hear the earth shattering impact that comes with that much armour as the behemoth of a man lands on the sidewalk in a typical superhero fashion. He was always one for the drama and flair. An explosive entrance.

 

This time, I’m content to watch from a distance. Getting up close and personal with this big guy is not recommended. I can’t risk engaging him, at all.

 

The poor souls can’t even comprehend this twist of events, faced against a giant and his hammer. He blocks off the entire route ahead of them, and this time the man takes the lady but the hand, already turning to sprint to retreat.

 

Too late.

 

"Hammer _DOWN_!"

 

A single mighty swing is enough to send ripples through the ground, cracks snaking across the pathway and the quake displacing road tiles like uprooting weeds. The shock is too great for mere mortals like the duo, and even with a timely toss of the biotic grenade, there's nothing they could do, the vibrations paralysing them.

 

Till now I can’t discern the properties of that infamous move. Just what is it that allows it to bring any foe to its feet, stunned and incapacitated? Perhaps the vibrations disorients them. Perhaps the resonance tingles the bones and digs its way into the muscles, rendering them useless until the energy could dissipate with time. Either way, it does the job, a devastating set up that lined up opponents like sitting ducks.

 

And in his typical, over-the-top fashion, Wilhelm Reindhart fires up the rocket melded into the back of his armour, and charged the dazed couple lying on the ground.

 

It’s over now.

 

His momentum carries the three of them into the nearby wall, smashing them and rendering them more than temporarily immobile. _SLAM_! And the criminals are finally caught. An unfortunate ending, given that I was rooting for them, but how could the average thief stand up against a veteran peacekeeper?

 

I have other worries. Has Overwatch been alerted to my presence? Or is Reindhart here on a solo mission? Either way, I have to be more vigilant. The arrival of one means that there'll be more following behind.

 

With that ridiculous hammer on his shoulder, Reindhart chuckles as he waves off curious passers-by and members of the dissipating mob, a shining beacon bright enough that would attract the authorities in no time.

 

"Move along now! Nothing to see here!"

 

Being so conspicuous, what makes you think that you won't attract people, you oaf. I also don’t think they’ll understand your heavily accented English.

 

The dog from earlier scampers around Reindhart's feet, having lost its target and finding this new gleaming statue. It yelps, barks of few times before Reindhart cries out in joy, and takes it into his arms. A large dog for a large man. Fitting.

 

Show's over for good this time, the curtains drawn. I take the long route around the town to find a new perch, making sure to give a wide berth around Reindhart. Firing up my encrypted communications, it appears that my target has not made the trip yet. Further intelligence suggests that they may not appear after all, especially after the commotion that just occurred, threatening their security. I will continue to stay vigil till sundown though, just in case. 

 

So despite the distractions and the incomplete status of my mission, I consider today a net victory. I can already hear the anthem, the bells and chorus ringing, the brass and high strings curating the sounds that will lift a country to arms. This is the sweet, sweet feeling of having conquered existence.

 

Throughout my career, I have done many boring things. Mission that require me to lie down for days on end, only watching with the discipline of a corpse, never acting. Even on the move, each step is calculated, and most opponents are so dull that I could outwit them with my eyes closed. 

 

But it's through these little tidbits of random chaos, of flawless comedic timing and the hilarious coincidences that the universe conspires to pull together; in these moments of metaphorical resonance in a world that makes no sense, that being here seems worth it. It's moments like these that I observe from my little watchtower, that I feel a little more alive.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> As apparent from the pun, the moment I saw ‘One Shot’, I knew this was going to be a Widowmaker fanfic, but I wanted it to be as removed from Overwatch as possible despite being set in its universe. It was going to be about observing absurdities, the most silly of things that could happen in crowds. The whole ‘criminal partners’ bit came from listening to Partners In Crime (Ft. Ash Costello) by Set it Off. Reindhart is there just because, why not?
> 
> I’m horrible at humour when it isn’t pure randomness, but I hope you enjoyed reading this anyhow. It was a fun exercise in writing.


End file.
